The Exhibition

Marcus perused the large dining room which held the exhibition, cataloguing the weapons in the paintings. Maybe he would find these later in the armoury. He really didn’t see the purpose in coming here. Nobody was even remotely interested in the exhibition, least of all Big Gin, who had actually proposed the outing, though she was feigning an interest for appearances sake. There was food to look forward to, Horace couldn’t deny her that.

Typical of the mine-born Northerner to spend AT LEAST half an hour in this shit hole, bored off his tits. ‘Nothing comes for free’ was his watchword.

Annoying but Marcus had to admit, character building. Anyway he was pretty sure that at least half of this was bluster.

Marcus further occupied these empty minutes looking at the faces. He realised after a while that the stronger looking faces were actually more successful leaders. Edwin Yardy looked like a little vole, and , loe and behold he was beheaded before he came of age. The hardest looking ones were actually the bishops, hard-nosed fuckers. Marcus must practice looking firm.

The time had come to look for an exit.

Yes she can tell me, he thought, eyes fixing on at a long tall woman of perhaps forty five. She was dressed all in black and tanned a rich brown. But her skin was shrivelled, betraying years on a sunbed. All the same strangely attractive.

‘Where are the toilets’ he demanded, no preliminaries.

‘Treat a lady with respect!’ (the last word was almost shouted).

‘I’m awfully sorry miss, could you please tell me where the men’s room is’

‘Back the way you came, and down the stairs’ she peered at him through thick black sunglasses that looked more like reinforced battlements.

‘And the armoury?’

‘Im afraid your not allowed in there alone, or the stables.’

Fuck. Give the old man credit where credit’s due.

A quick glance to make sure no one was looking then he was off and away, light footsteps keeping true to their creator.
As he blew out of the exhibition hall he allowed himself to experience a moment of breathless triumph.. Alright, armoury. He half recollected skinsuit saying it was on the second floor.

What he really needed was a crossbow, that was his weapon of choice, his weapon of mastery. There was a golden time when he had actually been allowed archery lessons, before IT had happened. But any sharpened arm would do, any axe, or sword, or pike. A pike would also come in useful when mounted.

UP the stairs - directions pointing to the armoury (they were making this too easy for him haha), and he came face to face with a door that looked to be made of metal, but was actually thick wood, heavily tarred and buttressed with iron nails. He scratched the surface about halfway up the door, in the heat of the moment forgetting that it was a medieval door.

Keys. Behind the reception desk. It took him 4 or 5 goes to get the right one, when finally he was gratified by the sound of a smooth click and the door opened slow smooth and heavy, revealing before his very eyes the splendid armoury.

The choices on offer were actually pretty limited although the armoury was huge in scale. More guns here than he had expected, all useless though, pipes all blocked up to stop psychos like yours truly having a go, not that he carried gunpowder on him anyway.

Some suits of armour all to small. How did these midgets rule their fiefdoms? With horses of course.

Finally a section full of pikes and halberds, couple of shields (too heavy to be of any use) and a big sword, probably the big man’s himself. All of these were readily available and no one had even pretended to make an effort at locking them up. Marcus laughed out loud to himself as he considered that Horace was probably already on his way now, jug-face juddering away in Fury.

But this brief moment of abandon was cut short by a low trembling that revealed footsteps pounding up the stairs. The uneven pacing clearly revealed more than one person. Marcus decided quickly. Seizing a sharp ended pike of medium length he threw it out the window and onto the manicured lawn below. An axe too for throwing or hand to hand, if it came to that.

Big Horace burst threw the doorway just in time to catch a glimpse of the boy’s hair as he sailed through the double windows, curtains fluttering behind him like a battleship’s ruined flag.

´Call security,´ he grunted at the closest minion.

´Theres no security here, at least not on Sundays´

´What did I fucking tell you, this lad´s a risk, theres no time for pissing about.´

´Arent you overreacting just a little?´

´A quick look around will tell you ´ee hasn’t left this room the way ´ee found it. Now if theres no security get the police, army, whatever. We aren’t going after ‘im alone.´

Adrenalin surged through his veins as Marcus rounded the Eastern wall imagining himself a proud horse or locomotive, breathing deep and easy with long economical strides. A distant neighing had already signalled his destination.

Faster. Rushin through low shrubbery now which ripped away at his fine clothes and even drew blood, but he was beyond caring. He could smell the stables, that stifling smell of sweaty horse, straw and animal shit.

The stable master was taken by surprise.

´OI! You lad. Cum ere. Get away from the horses. They´re dangerous. The´ll kill yeh!´

He had know all along that there would be horses here. They were regularly used for jousting tournaments on the fields below the castle. Marcus had watched them before, captivated, noting also how divine the horses looked with their heavy hoofs churning away clumps of soft earth.

Marcus was staring straight ahead, blue eyes strong, composed and unmoving like bolts of iron. He had learnt this from the bishops. He planted the pike like a makeshift pole-vault, launching himself onto the unsuspecting horse (still tricks in the old dog yet). Easy now, he thought, remember what happened last time.

The horse was already bolting out of the stables. Marcus managed to steer him towards the stable master who was immobile now, transfixed by his fearsome stare, the boy imagined. As the horse trampled him underfoot its hind hoof caught him half way up his thigh but slid down to smash one of his testicles into the dirty earth. As he rode away Marcus’ uneven tenor crackled softly over the master´s broken screams...